"I do not mean to be unkind to you, Annette. Have patience with me. You have made a bad bargain, but I am, perhaps, more grateful than I appear; and I like you better every day."
She made no reply, but leaned back and looked at the stars coming out, one by one. There was no delight in her heart, but a greater peace and sweetness than she had even hoped for. "I like you better every day." How softly the words echoed in her ears!
When the steamer had disappeared around a curve of the river, Mrs. Ferrier turned her tear-drenched face to Mrs. Gerald, and sobbed out, "They are gone! They are not our children any more."
Mrs. Gerald did not trust herself to speak; but she laid a kind hand on the mother's arm, and tried to smile.
"Do come home with me!" Mrs. Ferrier begged. "It is so lonesome there I can't bear to go into the house. Come and stay to tea, you and Honora."
But Mrs. Gerald had promised to drive out with Mrs. Macon to see the Sisters, and the bright little lady was waiting impatiently for her; so to Honora was left the task of comforting Annette's mother.
On their way home, Mrs. Ferrier started up suddenly, and ordered the coachman to stop. "I don't care if he is a Jew," she said, having caught sight of Mr. Schöninger. "He's good enough to be a Christian; and I'm going to ask him to supper." And before Honora could prevent it, even if she had desired to, the gentleman had been beckoned to the carriage, and the invitation given and accepted.
"I'm not what people call a lady," Mrs. Ferrier said, as they drove on again, "but I believe I know a gentleman when I see him; and if there ever was a true gentleman, he is one. How he does it I don't know; but he some way makes me respect myself. He doesn't flatter me; I am sure he doesn't care for my money, and that he knows I am no scholar; but it seems to me as if he thinks there is something respectable in being an honest woman, no matter how ignorant you are; and I'm just as sure that that man never laughs at me, and is mad when other people do it, as I am that I sit here. In my house, when some of those little upstarts have been talking to me, and trying to make me say things—I knew all the time what they were up to!—I've seen him come marching across the room to me like a king, and scatter them as if they were mice, with just one glance of his eyes. I'm not a fool, and I know my friends."
Honora's visit was a short one; and after an hour of pleasant talk, she started for home, accompanied by Mr. Schöninger. They had been speaking of the Moonlight Sonata; and, since the hour was early, the gentleman asked permission to go in and play it on Miss Pembroke's piano.
"I was about to ask you to," she said cordially. "It has been on my mind that I never heard you play that; and I fancy that my piano is just the instrument for it, the tone is so soft and rich."